


Screwed

by nanuk_dain



Series: Unexpected Engagement [1]
Category: Leverage
Genre: First Time, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2012-06-23
Packaged: 2017-11-08 09:59:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanuk_dain/pseuds/nanuk_dain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate and Eliot have no idea of the avalanche they set in motion when they invite Bonanno and Shelley to the poker night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Screwed

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the episode 4x14 'Boys' Night Out'. Did anyone else notice the weird connection between Bonanno and Shelley? Wondered where Shelley's satisfied grin came from when he helped Bonanno arrest the bad guys while munching his pizza? Well, here are my answers to those questions. I tweaked the timeline a wee bit, I hope you don't mind. And I'm really sorry about Bonanno's wife, she seems nice and all, but I needed to get rid of her in order to make this fic work. Don't kill me, please ^^ Hope you like it! It's my first Leverage fic ever, so please be gentle ^^

_/Captain Patrick Bonanno:/_

You know when people say things like 'I just knew he or she was _it_ for me, I already knew when I saw him or her for the first time'. You know what I mean, when people get all passionate and sappy. They like to call it 'love at first sight' and swear that it was destiny that brought them together.

I always knew that was total bullshit. A clumsy excuse for their overflowing hormones because they can't just say 'I was horny as hell, and XY was a hot piece of ass'. In my time with law enforcement I learned that it also serves as an excuse for crimes committed in passion or as a mask for simple greed. So, yeah, I know there is no such thing as love at the first sight. Call me cold and cynical, but that's how it is. I was married, and I loved my wife – still do, even though we're divorced now. Everybody who's ever been married knows what I mean. You don't just forget, and in a weird way, you'll always love your ex. But even so, it wasn't love at the first sight with my ex-wife, it wasn't fireworks, it wasn't destiny. Because – let me repeat it again – there is no such thing. It's not something I _believe_ , it's something I _know_.

At least that's what I thought – and I would have made _any_ bet on it – until that fateful evening when I got an innocent invitation from Nate Ford to a night of poker and beer. Well, it's _Nate Ford_ , I should have known better. There's nothing ever entirely innocent about that man. But to be fair, I have to admit that it wasn't even his fault, this time. Actually, _if_ I want to blame somebody, it should probably be Eliot Spencer, because he was the one to invite Shelley to that boys' night out. 

Shelley. My personal nemesis.

Yeah, let's not talk about destiny and love at first sight, because I still don't believe it. Problem is, I _know_ now that it exists. Because there is no other possible reason for what happened to me when I saw Shelley for the first time. There is no logical explanation for the instant attraction I felt for a guy who is about half my age. Okay, _almost_ , at least he's older than thirty. 

I think.

There's not much I really _know_ about Shelley. Turns out Spencer wasn't joking. Shelley really and truly would have to kill me if he told me what his work is. And isn't _that_ a symbol for how screwed up this whole thing is that this is the only thing I really _do_ know about him. I don't even know his first name.

But that's only the beginning of how screwed up this is. I'm a man who's settled in life, in his fifties, with a decent if exhausting job, a house where the mortgage is going to be paid off in a year and a nice little pension when I finally retire in a decade. Settled, you know. Secure in who he is.

And then comes along that young guy with this mesmerising smile and those capturing eyes and an attitude of mystery and danger paired with a twisted sense of humour. Not to mention this incredibly hot body, and I'm saying that as a man who's never really noticed stuff like that before. At least not on other men. I don't even know where his charms really come from, and I have thought about it a lot. Maybe it's his positive spirit. Maybe it's his easy smile that makes his eyes twinkle mischievously. Maybe it's this sense that he's totally secure in who _he_ is, this feeling that he's at peace with himself.

I don't know. But I _do_ know that within the first five minutes of meeting Shelley, I'm ready to give up every belief, every opinion I have about love, passion and destiny if that means that I can touch that guy. God, I want it. Want _him_. It costs me horrendous amounts of discipline not to let it show. I'm not quite sure I entirely managed. So when Spencer and Hardison disappear, supposedly to get pizza – and I wonder immediately why we don't order in if it was about pizza – I don't know if I should be happy about the opportunity to be alone with Shelly, of if it was wiser to dread that situation. 

Proves that there's no need to worry. We don't need the others to get along, in fact, we manage spectacularly well without any outward help. We continue the game, all the while we talk about funny and strange things we've seen in our lines of work. Not that I know now what Shelley's actual line of work is, he's good at leaving out any details that would tell me. Somehow we end up discussing ways to choke somebody with maximum efficiency and minimum risk and effort, and he describes a way I haven't come across yet. I watch his gestures while he explains and I frown, trying to imagine it. 

"I can show you, if you're interested." Shelley offers with a casual shrug. 

I nod and then throw him a grin. "Okay, but don't kill me. Ford and his team might need me in the future."

"Wouldn't want to terminate their police connection, now, would we?" Shelley chuckles, and when the fuck did I start to think that sound was sexy? 

A shiver runs down my spine when he rises from his chair to stand behind me and his arm settles around my neck. I can feel his warmth where the demonstration of choking techniques demands him to press against my back, and fuck, he's really well built. I feel the hardness of muscles everywhere, in his arm around my throat, in the other one resting in the back of my neck, in his chest against my shoulder blades. Oh oh, I'm venturing into dangerous territory. Very dangerous, and I'm not referring to any bodily harm.

"So, you get the crook of your elbow over the trachea, then fold your other hand around their neck and hook the hand in the elbow. Gives you more leverage." Shelley explains in a low voice that is very close to my ear. All the while, he performs each move he's describing, and once he tightens his hold, I can feel how my air is cut off effectively and how the blood flow to my head slows. I feel light-headed, but I'm not quite sure it's only due to the arm around my neck. 

"You need to put pressure on the carotid, makes them dizzy immediately. See?" He says and holds the grip. His voice is a little rough, his breath warm on my skin. I hit my palm on the table and he slowly eases the tension around my neck. He lets go, removes his arm and makes to step back. Before I've realised what I'm doing, my hand closes around his wrist, keeps him from moving away. By now I know he still could have, had he wanted to. But he stops, doesn't strain against my touch, gives in to it. It's all the answer I need to the question I never asked aloud. 

I'm still regaining my breath when I pull on his arm in a probing, questioning kind of way, giving him all the time in the world to resist, to end this here and now. But he doesn't. Instead, Shelley follows the movement, steps closer until I can feel his warmth against my back again. His other arm comes up, but this time not to choke me. Instead I feel his hand on my shoulder, slowly passing over the fabric of my shirt, up to the side of my neck and then down my chest. His fingers pass over my nipple, teasing and with intent, and I can't help the gasp that leaves my mouth, can't help the shiver that runs through my body. Shelley feels it, of course he does considering how close he is to me, and I hear a low chuckle next to my ear, right before the tip of his tongue touches the sensitive spot right below my earlobe. "Want me to show you some other techniques, Patrick?"

"Oh fuck yes." I groan in response and it's a reflex, really, I never have the chance to think about it. My name sounds so sinfully good coming from him, in this dark, rough voice, heavy with innuendo and undisguised desire, and I like how he doesn't shorten my name. I can't remember ever having been turned on just by the sound of my own name, but hey, there's a first time for everything. And there's no doubt that I'm turned on, because the proof is unmistakably tenting my pants. From his vantage point behind me, Shelley has to be able to see it. 

I'm not able to think about it any further, though, because there's Shelley's tongue again, wandering from that sensitive spot behind my ear down along my neck and to my collarbone. I lean back into his touch, my mouth gaping open and my breath way quicker than it has any right to be. Shelley's hand settles on my cheek and he makes me turn my head as far back as possible, then his lips find mine and we're kissing, full on, mouth open, tongues meeting in a mindless battle. 

Holy shit, this is hotter than anything I have experienced in my whole life – and I've tried quite a few things when I was younger. Shelley groans into the kiss, low and passionate and uncontrolled, then his lips are gone. Before I can complain in any way, he has grabbed the chair I'm sitting on and turned it around forcefully, then I feel his weight settling down on me. He's straddling me, his hands in my hair, his tongue back in my mouth. He moves against me and I grab his ass, press him down, groin against groin. Shelley groans again, deep in his throat, and isn't it pathetic that this sound sends spikes of arousal through my entire body. 

Shelley's hands grab the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head, then he rips off his own t-shirt, all within mere seconds. Then his hands are all over me and I can't help the shiver of pleasure that runs down my spine when his warm, naked chest presses against mine. Shelley's fingers pass over my skin, light and teasing and so incredibly arousing, and I let my hands wander over his sides to his strong back, taking pleasure in the goosebumps I can feel under my fingertips. I can't resist the temptation and let my hands find the waistband of Shelley's jeans, then slide underneath and grab his ass. He presses back into my grip and his movements make him rub his groin into mine and fuck, I want more. I groan into his mouth, a sound that is equally pleased and tortured. Shelley pulls back a little, panting, and lets his forehead rest against mine.

“Ever been with a guy before?” he asks quietly, his eyes open now and his intense gaze focussed on me.

“Yeah.” I reply equally quiet, then I give a little smirk and admit, “Never went beyond a hurried handjob, though. And that was in my teens.”

Shelley chuckles, and I can't help feeling that it sounds relieved. He touches his nose to mine in a slow caress, then he presses a gentle, almost chaste kiss to my lips. “Want me to show you what else there is to do?”

I cup his face before I lean in to deepen the kiss, then I let my lips wander down his throat.

“Teach me.” I whisper against his neck before I bite him. His hips buckle and he pants, and hello there, somebody likes a little pain. I slide my hands back in his pants, touch the bare skin and dig my fingers into his ass just this side of too hard. 

“Fuck yeah... Patrick...” Shelley groans against my neck, his hips buckling again in an aborted thrust, his hands clenching into fists in my hair while a shudder runs through his entire body. Oh yes, he likes a little pain. Likes it a lot. I grin and bite his neck again, just because I want to feel him shudder against me.

That is when my phone starts ringing and vibrating on the table, loud and obnoxious and with the worst timing ever. For a moment, I just want to crush it or throw it out of the window, or whatever else it takes to make it shut up so that I can concentrate on the real important things. Like the incredibly hot, turned on guy in my lap who's rubbing deliciously against my groin. 

The phone doesn't shut up, though, and Shelley reaches blindly behind him to grab it, then hands it to me. He doesn't make any attempts to move off my lap, though, just watches me as I accept the call and put the mobile to my ear. One of my hands is still resting on his ass under his jeans.

“Yeah?” I growl, and if I sound a bit breathless, you can't really blame me. To make things worse, it's Hardison calling, and he wants to know where in Boston would be the main safehouse for Mexican drug smugglers. For a moment I wonder if Shelley might help me kill him slowly and painfully for interrupting us, but then I get to my senses and tell him that I will send him some addresses. If Hardison is asking something like that, it can only mean that there's trouble – and what does it say about me that I'm not even surprised – and I know that helping him will result in something good. It usually does with Ford and his team.

I end the call and glare at the mobile, then I sigh. “Hardison. The job's calling, it seems.”

Shelley nods, then he cups my face and makes me look at him.

“This is not over.” He says in that incredibly intense, low voice, his eyes focussed on me, his hands still holding my head so that I can't turn away. Not that I want to. I just sit there in the middle of Ford's apartment with Shelley straddling me and my erection pressing almost painfully against the confines of my pants, and all I can do is smirk and press a little kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

“Not over.” I agree and kiss him again. I enjoy the way his eyes brighten when he returns my smirk and that's when I know that I'm screwed. In every sense of the word.

I find that I don't mind.

 

*** 

_/Shelley:/_

I never had a thing for older men. I have a thing for men – always had – but never ones that are more than a decade older than me. Just not my cup of tea. 

In fact, I have a taste in beauty. All kinds of beauty, male and female. It's a good thing that I like both, because in my line of occupation you can't harbour prejudices. Would ruin a lot of missions. It's not like you can choose the gender of your mark.

Not that Captain Patrick Bonanno of the Massachusetts State Police is beautiful in the classical sense. He's tall – taller than me, even if only by one or two inches, and that's a kink I never new I had before – and he's still well built for his age, but his hair is greying and becoming sparse and he is getting old. That's what my analytical eye tells me, but my mind sees things a bit differently. _Entirely_ different, in fact. And don't even ask my dick. For once, it happens to agree with my mind, though. They think that there's something decidedly attractive about Bonanno, and they're happy to meet him. They see a sharp wit and a great smile that can melt knees – mine at least, it seems – and eyes that seem to look right into my very soul. Of course they also notice the nice, strong arms and the amazingly hot ass. 

In the course of the evening, the analytical part of my mind also notices the way Bonanno's eyes seem to return to me again and again, as if he can't help himself. I don't feel malevolent intent or suspicion from him, instead there's curiosity and badly hidden attempts to check me out unobtrusively. I hide my satisfied smirk and observe him. Seems the attraction is mutual. Good to know. So when Eliot and Hardison leave – and honestly, do they really think we're so stupid to buy that excuse about getting pizza? – I figure my time has come. Now I can check out how much of Patrick's attention is real interest and how much is just simple curiosity. And yes, I'm very well aware that over the evening he turned from 'Bonanno' to 'Patrick'. I'm very observant, it's what I'm trained to do, and I don't stop short of observing myself. You always need to have the full picture to make the right decision. 

We continue the game that started out with five players and is now down to the two of us, and after a lot of bluffing and teasing, Patrick wins. It's close, but I can admit when I'm defeated. We talk all the time, and although I thought I'd steer the conversation, find out some things about him, in the end I do no such thing. The conversation just flows naturally, no steering necessary, and I'm not surprised to find that I really and truly enjoy his company. I can't even tell you how we ended up discussing choking techniques – I'm used to end up on weird topics with Eliot, but it doesn't usually happen with people I barely know – and then I'm offering to show him how to effectively choke a guy. So I do, and yes, I feel the tension between us, feel the effect his closeness has on me.

Now, you have to know about me that I rarely play it safe. I'm a daring person, I love the thrill of the unknown, the unexpected and the unplannable. It's part of the reason why I'm in this job and why I love it. But right now, when my arms are wrapped around Patrick's neck, I don't feel daring. I want to be, want to take it in strides, see it as a nice fling to spice up the evening. 

Problem is that I don't. I know that if I get a taste of him, I won't be able to just let go, forget and go on with life. If I get a taste of him, I will want to keep him, claim him, make him mine. It's a weird sensation for me, one I never experienced before. I'm not a very possessive person, to the contrary, I'm a wholehearted believer in meaningless sex and easy, fun encounters to the mutual benefit and pleasure. I'm certainly not one for serious relationships. Probably the most serious relationship I have is with Eliot, and we've know each other for decades, were together from the very beginning. No, not together like that. Just friends, grown tight over shared experiences and years of missions we can never tell anybody else about. Not that anybody would ever believe us, anyway. But even though I trust Eliot and see him as my probably closest friend, it's not like we call every Sunday and share the newest developments in our lives. 

This, though, this would be serious for me. And I'm not sure I want that, or if I'm even able to deal with what it implies. Or, for that matter, if Patrick even wants _me_ like that. For real. Hands down. With everything that comes with it.

So I straighten, lose my demonstrative choke and prepare to back away, let go of all the possibilities that I can feel hanging in the air. But before I can make my decision final, I feel Patrick's hand on my wrist, warm and huge and firm, and when his thumb passes over my pulse point in a feather-light touch, I lose all the resolve I have just built up. Screw my doubts, I'll just go for it, plunge in head first, like always, and make do. 

And wow, he feels so incredibly good, so fierce and passionate. He gives as good as he gets, never backing down, meeting every of my approaches with one of his own. It doesn't take long until we've lost our shirts and I revel in the feeling of his naked chest against mine. I'm losing my control more and more with every second, and that's a first for me. I don't let go, never, not even when having sex. In my line of work that equals a death warrant, so you learn how to keep up at least a certain level of alert. 

But now that I'm straddling Patrick and feel his hands underneath my jeans on my bare ass, I know that I will let go if we take this any further. I need to know where I'm standing with him, how much experience he has and how much he can take, though, so I force myself to ask. To know that I'm in fact his first somehow makes my throat tighten with an emotion I can't name. Well, maybe I could, but I _won't_ , because it's too much, too dangerous. I admit to the relief, but it will still take me while until I'm ready to define the rest of the potent mixture of emotions. 

In a weird way, I'm almost glad for Hardison interrupting us, although I will never admit that. I make sure Patrick knows we're not done yet, and that not only because I know I will suffer of a serious case of blue balls until we've finished what we started here. Patrick doesn't seem to have any objections, to the contrary, he obviously wants to continue this as much as I do. We both know now's not the time, though, not with the team needing our help. 

Patrick gives another sigh, a little wistful, and his hand caresses my belly. “Let's get ready to join the show.”

As if on cue, my stomach growls loudly. Patrick raises a teasing eyebrow and chuckles.

"I'm hungry." I shrug and look down at him because I'm still straddling him and I like that I'm taller than him right now. "It's not like the boys ever came back with that pizza they promised us."

Patrick grins and smacks my ass. Not hard or patronisingly, but teasingly and playful. "Get up, then, and I'll invite you to a pizza of your choice on the way."

"I can come along?" I ask and raise an eyebrow in question. It's not really a question, though, I knew he wouldn't leave me behind. Just like he probably knew I would be there, no matter if he let me join him or not. 

“I'm sure you can be of great help.” he replies and smirks. “Just don't distract me.”

“Not too much, at least.” I grin and slowly get up from where I've been sitting on his lap for the past... I don't even know how long, and that says a lot about _my_ level of distraction, because I have an excellent sense of time. Usually. There are a lot of things that are out of order with me where it concerns Patrick Bonanno, it seems. 

When Patrick gets Nate's call, he alerts his men at the precinct and we drive out to the parking garage Nate told us about to meet up with them. The drive only takes a few minutes, then we head to the lower level where Nate told us to take position. The police are already there, quietly standing by and waiting for Patrick to arrive and give the orders.

“So, when do we continue this?” I ask casually when I get out of the car, still a good distance away from the closest uniform. 

Patrick looks at me over the roof of the car and doesn't reply until he's walking next to me, his voice very quiet. "Once this is done. In about three hours, my place."

I know I'm the only one who can hear him, but then, I'm also the only one _meant_ to hear those words.

"Can't get enough of me, can you?" I chuckle and smirk teasingly at him over my pizza. Patrick glares at me, but there's no heat behind it. Instead of telling me off, he raises one eyebrow in challenge. "Don't be late."

I feel a shiver run through my body at the low, rough timbre of his voice that promises a lot of pleasure once I get to his place. "Not a second." 

I hear him chuckle when he walks past me to join his men, and I can see the secretly pleased smile on his face. We don't have to wait long for the action to start, and then Patrick charges in, shotgun at the ready, all bossy and badass, surrounded by his men. And shit, he looks good with his weapon drawn, hot like hell. Okay okay, so I might have a slight kink for men with guns. But what can I say, Patrick just pushes all the right buttons for me. When I deliver the two thugs who were trying to escape to the police and throw them down on the car's hood, I turn and grin at Patrick.

Oh my. I'm in head over heels. 

Eliot won't stop laughing when he hears about this.


End file.
